––––––––
Angelique took an eye-wateringly expensive taxi back to the house, praying that Noah would be there when she arrived. No such luck. His phone went straight to voicemail every time she called it.
At least John wasn’t there either. As far as she knew, he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. So as long as the missing rock star turned up before then, she stood a chance of holding onto her new job.
She was too on edge to get herself anything to eat. Keeping busy was the only thing that would stop her falling to pieces. She went up to the suite and stood in the middle of her room. His bedroom was on the other side of that door. John had told her he and the cleaner had given all of the rooms a thorough search before she’d arrived. But there’d also been a clutch of bottles lying around when they’d been in there a few hours before.
It was part of her job to keep him out of temptation’s way. She’d failed to watch him closely enough while they were out – and she wouldn’t let that happen again – but in the meantime, she could always make sure there wasn’t anything in his room that shouldn’t be there. She pulled open the door and walked inside.
An hour and a half later, she’d turned his bedroom and bathroom upside down and located a small, solitary bag of coke. It took her another half hour to put everything back. Tidying up calmed her down and gave her time to figure out what she was going to say to Mr Shisha Lounge. This was never going to work if he didn’t want it to – no one ever got clean and stayed that way if they weren’t doing it for themselves.
When she was done, she looked around her own room. There was a good chance he’d hidden something in there too. She was sliding her hand down the back of the chaise longue when she heard the front door bang shut.
Footsteps started up the stairs. All of the irritation and unease she’d been working to get rid of flooded back and she stormed out to meet him.
He stomped upstairs, his head drooping so that his long hair obscured his face.
“Noah.”
He ignored her, not even looking up as he walked past.
That was the final straw. “Backside!” She grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “This was in your room.” She held up the little bag of white powder.
He tossed his hair out of his face, his jaw tense with anger. “How dare you?”
“Me? How dare I? Look at everything you have, Noah. And you’re going to throw it all away for the sake of a quick fix. You know what your problem is?”
He glared at her, his face a stone mask.
“You’re spoilt. You said you’re bored, well you’re just self-indulgent. Some of us have got real problems.” It made her sick to think of all the money he must have frittered away to end up so close to losing his house.
Folding his arms, he straightened up and squinted at her. “Alright then, Saint Angie. Since I obviously don’t have a care in the world, why don’t you tell me what your problem is?”
She fell silent, thoughts of Lewis racing through her mind. What would he say if she told him she was an alcoholic too? What would he think of a woman who’d put the drink before her own child?
The sneer slid off his face. “Go on, what is it?”
It was worse to see him look at her with something approaching concern. Conflict, she knew how to handle. If he was nice to her, she might just crumble. “Forget it. I’m going to flush this down the toilet.” She waved the coke in his face. “Don’t bother getting any more because it’ll go the same way.” She fixed him with her sternest look, hoping she seemed more in control than she felt. He reminded her of Lewis – especially when he looked at her with those wide brown eyes. That’s how she knew he wasn’t completely lost. But it was also a way for him to manipulate her.
She turned to leave, but this time, he caught her by the wrist. His touch burned into her skin, sending shockwaves all the way up her forearm.
“Look, I’m sorry. I wanted a drink. I even went to buy a bottle of vodka. But I didn’t. You can smell my breath.” He leaned in closer and she snatched her arm away.
“Please. Don’t do that. I don’t like to be touched.” No one got to lay hands on her. Especially not men.
He stared for a fraction of a second, then backed off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
What was the matter with her? She was more screwed up than him. “It’s... It’s okay. I believe you about the drink.” She had no idea why, but she did. “Noah, do you want to get clean?”
She looked into his eyes and watched him think long and hard about it. Had he sunk low enough to really want it? She thought back to the day she’d decided to quit drinking for the last time. It was nearly two years since she’d touched any alcohol. And more than two and a half since she’d lost custody of her son. Those seven months in between made her more ashamed than anything in her life.
“Do you want the truth?”
She nodded. There was no point going forward with a lie.
“I don’t know. He swept his hair back off his face, combing his fingers through it. “I think about where I’m headed sometimes and I feel like I’m dying. But then that just makes me want another drink.” He looked away from her. “If I stop, what will I have left? Best case scenario – I go on tour and make enough money to get out of debt – what happens then? What do I do? How do I fill the hole?”
He looked into her eyes and she thought her heart would break. It was the question all addicts were trying to answer in some way or another. “You have to work that out for yourself.”
Looking away, he tucked his hair behind his ears. The silence between them stretched out. It was obvious she hadn’t given him the response he wanted. “I can tell you one thing. Keeping busy helps.” Anything that stopped you thinking about what you could be drinking was a godsend.
“Well, I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied.”
Of course. The new album. “Are you really going to write and record a whole album in time for the tour?” He slumped a little and she wished she could bite back the words. “Why don’t you get your guitar out? It might make you feel better.” She watched him mull it over. Everything was so close to the surface with him. Whatever came into his head was instantly written all over his face.
It was a huge part of what made it so hard to dislike him, even after his terrible behaviour. That and his big brown eyes.
“Well, there are a couple of riffs that have been stuck in my head ever since I got home.”
“Why don’t you try them out? See what you come up with?”
He sucked on his full bottom lip. “Wait here.” He bounded past her into the suite and came back moments later with a battered old acoustic guitar. Its body was a mesh of scratches and stained varnish.
“I thought you had one of those double-necked electric things.”
He dashed halfway down the stairs and beckoned to her. “Come on. The acoustics are better in the conservatory.”
She put the coke in her pocket to deal with later. His enthusiasm was infectious. He was almost at the bottom before she caught up with him. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting – she’d braced herself for a full-blown argument when he got back.
“This,” he placed a reverent hand on the strings of his old guitar, “is the secret of my success.”
She tried to hold back the laughter, but she just couldn’t.
“Don’t laugh. I’ve had this guitar a long time.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” She didn’t mean to mock. It said something about him that he wasn’t hung up on having the latest, most expensive kit.
“It’s what I do all my writing on.” They crossed the marble floor of the hallway and he threw open the doors to the conservatory.
The entire room was furnished in white – the chairs, the tables, the window frames – and light bounced off every surface. He went straight to the electrical equipment in the far corner.
“What’s that?”
“I want to record this. Take a seat.” He gestured to the rattan sofa with plump white cushions and she perched herself on the end of it.
Noah pulled out a straight-backed chair and folded his lanky frame into it, resting the guitar on his thigh. He strummed a chord and the atmosphere in the room sharpened.
Neither of them spoke as he picked his way through various note combinations, warming up for the real playing. Angelique leaned over the sofa arm, captivated by his concentration. He looked different again – serious and in control. She was glad she’d suggested this. All of the bad feeling between them had evaporated as soon as he laid his hands on the guitar.
The strumming gave way to an actual tune and he hummed along, stopping every now and then to pick up the song from the beginning again. The run of notes was bright and uplifting. His rich, warm voice filled the space, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.
She’d never really listened to his music before. Now she knew why he was so popular. And there she’d been assuming it was because all the girls fancied him.
He played one last chord and clapped his hand down on the strings to silence them. “What do you think?”
She gave him a little round of applause. “Pretty good.”
“It’s not quite there yet, but I don’t think it’ll need much more work.”
“I’m impressed.” When he’d said he wanted to write a new album before the tour, she’d dismissed it as an idle boast, but now she could see he stood a good chance of seeing it through.
“I’ve still got a long way to go.” He looked down and started to play again. Something slower this time. The tune came more hesitantly and she was sure he was playing out a difficult time in his life. There was so much of him laid out there it made her uncomfortable. This time, he sang a lyric over the top.
Too many nights
Too many fights
I never wanted it to end
Then I did
He looked up, meeting her eye as he raised his voice to repeat the refrain. It sounded like the story of a bad break-up, but she knew he was singing about the drink and the drugs. She could feel it. The air in there was suddenly as thick as treacle. She got to her feet.
“Are you okay?” He rose, placing the guitar on the floor.
“I’m fine. I’m going to make a cup of tea, do you want anything?” The words came out almost double-speed. It was well over a year since her last panic attack, but she was perfectly aware of the warning signs. She had to get out of there before she made a fool of herself.
“Angie, what is it?” He came towards her, reaching out before he remembered her aversion to physical contact and backed off.
She fled the conservatory for the kitchen, too embarrassed to abandon her excuse. At the sink, she poured herself a glass of water, but her hands were shaking too much for her to drink any of it.
“Angie.”
She turned to see him standing nervously in the doorway. She hated being called that, but she’d let it slide for too long to say anything now.
“What is it?” He stepped inside, but hung back. “What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t a bad person – the concern on his face showed that – but he was in a bad place. It had been different back at the clinic. Maybe she’d made a mistake accepting this job.
“Talk to me.”
Taking hold of herself, she fought down a few breaths and carried her water over to the glass dining table. “I’m supposed to be looking after you, not the other way round.” She took a drink, her nerves a little steadier.
“Have I upset you?”
She met his gaze. “No. You haven’t done anything.”
“That’s not true. I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have taken you to that place.”
“And I shouldn’t have let you run out on me.”
“What were you supposed to do? Come in the men’s toilets with me? It wasn’t your fault.”
She sighed and drank some more water. It seemed the panic attack wasn’t going to make an appearance after all.
“I feel better, you know? After talking to you.” He moved his hand across the table towards hers, stopping short of touching her.
“I’m glad.”
“If you ever want to talk about your stuff...”
She shook her head. It was kind of him to offer, but that wasn’t what she was there for. “I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” As far as he was concerned, that had to be the case.
***
As the afternoon eased into evening, Noah had to admit that Angelique was right about keeping busy. His financial difficulties meant he’d had to let go of the household staff, so he offered to help her cook dinner and they dirtied nearly every pan in the kitchen making chicken pasta.
He tried to remember when he’d last cooked something for a woman and came up empty. The girls he usually hung out with were more of the takeaway pizza type. If they had an appetite for anything other than class-As that is.
The house was filled with the smell of garlic and tomatoes by the time they sat down to eat and his stomach growled in appreciation. Angie made sure he had an extra-large helping, but for once he was looking forward to it. They sat at the kitchen table with glasses of ginger beer to go with their food.
“Cheers.” She held up her glass and he clinked it with his.
“Cheers.”
He was too hungry for small-talk and she’d made it clear she didn’t want to discuss what was bothering her. After wolfing down the pasta, he pushed his chair back from the table and poured himself another drink.
“If I wasn’t on the wagon, I’d be having a coffee with a large slug of brandy right about now.”
“I can do you the coffee if you like.” She knocked back the last of her ginger beer and got up from the table.
“Black, two sugars please.” He watched her carry the kettle over to the sink, growing more and more irritated. Okay, she was easy on the eye, but she was getting on his nerves. He wanted a drink. He’d poured his heart out to her, let her hear his new songs – which he never did with anyone – and she wouldn’t open up even a crack. And what was all that stuff with the ‘I don’t like to be touched’?
She made the coffees and brought them back to the table. “What?”
He hadn’t realised he’d been staring. “Nothing.” Had John found that bottle of bourbon in the garden shed? If he could get Angie out of the way, he’d be able to find out. “Look, I haven’t made your first day very easy. Why don’t you go run yourself a bubble bath and I’ll whip something up for pudding?”
She watched him carefully. He kept his smile small enough to avoid setting her alarm bells ringing.
“I don’t think I should.”
“I promise I won’t do a runner. You can take my phone and my car keys if you like. And my wallet.” He waited for her verdict, his stomach roiling in anticipation of some alcohol. The food had done him some good, but after so many hours without a drink, he was struggling to keep his hands steady. “You can’t watch me every second of the day. It’s not practical.”
“No. Not tonight. I’m too full for pudding anyway.”
Great. Now what was he going to do? “Alright.” He’d have to bide his time. Wait for her to go to bed. “Why don’t we watch a film instead? You can choose?”
She smiled more naturally. “That sounds like a good idea.”
They cleared the table and loaded up the dishwasher, then he took her down into his basement screening room.
“Wow. I was thinking wide screen TV. You’ve got your own projector.”
“Yeah. It’s a shame – I’ve probably only used it about four times.” He knew what impression he gave. More money than sense. Well, he had considerably less money now.
She settled on The Wizard of Oz in the end. He offered to make popcorn, but she said she didn’t want any, so they took a seat, turned down the lights and let the film wash over them.
Ten minutes in and Noah got a serious case of the fidgets. He could feel her looking at him, wondering if he had the shakes. It was so humiliating. A quick swig of something and he’d be as good as new. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he whispered.
She got up when he did.
“No, it’s okay. You stay and watch the film.”
She didn’t sit down again. “You know I can’t do that.”
He sighed. It had been worth a try. He’d have to get some miniatures stashed around the place. Either that or give up properly this time. He did want to stop, but everything felt so awful without a drink. He’d got to the point where being sober was like walking round with his skin scraped off – he needed the alcohol to cushion him.
For the sake of appearances, he went to the bathroom while Angie waited outside the door. Then they went back and watched the rest of the film.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get through it. Mainly, he resorted to going over some new songs in his head. The first two were pretty much done. Only another nine to go. It wasn’t quite as daunting as it had been a few hours ago.
“So, when did you last watch that?” she asked when the credits started to roll.
“I don’t know. A long time ago.” Films had never been his thing. Which made his personal cinema rather a stupid idea.
“It’s a bit soppy, but it’s one of my favourites.”
He nodded, tired of having to make conversation. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Oh.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Okay. I’ll come up and read for a bit.”
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to. Watch another film if you like.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m tired too.”
Yeah, right. He shouldn’t have expected any less, but it still rankled. Bloody John. Why couldn’t he have just sent him back to rehab? Because you refused to go. So now he couldn’t even go to bed without his new minder sitting on the other side of the door. Well, she’d better sleep lightly, because he wasn’t about to give up on that bottle in the shed. “I’ll say goodnight then.”
“Goodnight. I’ll be up in a minute.” She smoothed back a stray wisp of hair that had escaped from her ponytail.
Just for a moment, he saw her as a woman again – not a jailer. When he looked into her eyes, he glimpsed secrets that she didn’t want him to see. He wished he’d never mentioned her to John. If he had to go through the indignity of being watched twenty-four hours a day, it would have been a lot easier if the watcher hadn’t been so bloody pretty. Or so mysterious.
He needed to find out more about Miss Angelique Jones. She was living in his house now – he had a right to know a bit more about who she was. And maybe he’d uncover something he could use to his advantage.
***
Angelique plodded up the stairs to her room wondering if she’d imagined the connection they’d made in the conservatory that afternoon. As the evening had worn on, Noah had become more and more monosyllabic until she got the distinct impression that he hated her.
Mood swings were only to be expected, but his attitude still got to her. Why she was so bothered about his opinion was a question she didn’t want to dig too far into. She wasn’t there to be liked, she was there to keep him clean.
But as she alternated between reading the same paragraph of her book over and over and staring at his bedroom door, she felt the stirrings of a thirst she’d thought she’d conquered. It was just as well the house had been cleared of alcohol – if she’d stumbled across a bottle she would have had a tough time leaving it unopened.
She tossed her book aside and lay back on the bed. As much as she needed the money, she couldn’t stay if it was putting her sobriety at risk. She fumbled in her handbag and brought out her phone. Scrolling through the address book, she came to Eleanor – her sponsor.
Phoning her was the logical, sensible thing to do. She glanced at the door again. There was no way she could risk having Noah overhear her. Which meant forgetting about Eleanor, or leaving the room to call her.
She didn’t have to stay on the phone for long. And he was probably asleep in there anyway.
Angelique got up and tiptoed over to the door. She put her ear up against it, but she couldn’t hear anything. What trouble could he get up to in ten minutes?
As quietly as possible, she slipped out onto the landing and down the stairs. She didn’t want to go too far, so she took refuge in the kitchen and dialled the number. It felt wrong to turn on the light. She stood just inside the doorway in the dark. The ringing phone sounded deafening in the silent house. He wasn’t close enough to hear her, but waiting for Eleanor to pick up still made her heart pound.
***
Noah stripped out of his clothes and got into bed, but he wasn’t tired enough to go to sleep. He listened to Angie moving about next door. Why couldn’t she just turn in for the night and give him the chance to tiptoe downstairs?
He rolled over and stared at the photograph on the wall. It was an aerial shot of the house. The house he might not have for much longer. Closing his eyes, he tried to think his way through the minefield he’d laid for himself. There was no way he’d be able to get the album done, get through a tour and make enough money to hold onto this place if he was still drinking. Not to mention the other stuff.
So why not give in and get clean?
Because it’s too hard.
He rolled over to lie on his stomach. He had the shakes again. Everything ached. He needed that bottle. If it wasn’t in the shed... No. It had to be there. He was pretty sure John hadn’t checked down there. But what if it wasn’t?
Maybe it would be for the best. He’d come out of the clinic a new man, but as soon as he’d caught a whiff of some guy’s whiskey it had been back to square one.
Which proved that leaving these things in someone else’s hands – in Angie’s hands – wasn’t the answer. If he couldn’t do it alone, he wouldn’t be able to do it at all.
He rolled onto his back, the sheet sticking to his sweaty torso. He couldn’t do it. He needed that drink. He could taste the bourbon already – sweet and smooth as he rolled it around his mouth, with a touch of fire as it slid down his throat to warm his belly. And then there’d be the pleasant fog inside his head. All he’d have to do was take another sip and his money problems would fade into the background.
No. He could fight it. He didn’t have to take a drink. He threw the covers off, but then he started to shiver.
Getting out of bed, he pulled on a dressing gown and paused to listen for sounds of movement next door. He couldn’t hear anything. Maybe she’d finally gone to sleep.
He crept over to the door and opened it a crack. If she was awake, he could always say he was going to get some food.
But the room was empty.
He stepped through the door. After all that fuss she’d made, where the hell had she gone?
It didn’t matter. He’d take the opportunity to nip down to the shed. If he found the bourbon, he wouldn’t drink it. He’d pour it onto the grass and go back to bed. Perhaps he’d be able to sleep if the possibility of a drink wasn’t there in the back of his mind.
***
“Angelique?”
“Yeah. Sorry for calling so late.”
“It’s not that late and that’s what sponsors are for. How are things?”
“Weird. I started that job today.”
“And?”
She let out a loud breath. “He’s a handful.”
Eleanor laughed. “No more than you can cope with though?”
“That’s what I thought, but I nearly had a panic attack this afternoon.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“I haven’t had a drink.”
“But you’ve been thinking about it.”
“I haven’t been like this in months. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” The panic started to well up inside her again, pricking at her insides. Her breathing got faster.
“Angelique, listen to me. Take a breath, okay? Take a deep breath.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her heart carried on stuttering and she battled to blow out a steady breath. She breathed in again and held it, focusing on memories of the sea like Eleanor had taught her. Her breathing and heart rate gradually went back to normal.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but don’t let this job ruin things for you. There’s no shame in quitting if it’s too hard.”
“I know.” She understood it in her head, but every time she thought about giving up that pay-cheque an image of Lewis would swim in front of her eyes and make her heart-sick. “I know it’s not worth having a relapse over.”
The kitchen door swung open and Noah stood there silhouetted in the light from the hall. He stared down at her. She knew he’d heard the juicy parts of the conversation.
“I have to go,” she said and ended the call.